Unhurried Horror Of Hope

Unhurried Horror Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 06

Perhaps I shall receive moment of grace 
that reconciles assertiveness of faith 
with tragic nature of our universe 
where people striving to create with love 
suffer from disaster, disease, and war, 
bodies torn from minds shattered by despair. 

When I align instruments of dream sense 
in good order through discipline of thought 
to arrange weird concepts of mental dance, 
I lie on high oriel of desire 
beneath obstructing walls of paradise 
to sleep with murdered ghosts of my regret. 

Despite myopic focus of my mind 
on sensuous craquelures of innocence 
that fracture classic landscapes of my heart, 
I choose to perform florescence of faith 
beneath gloom-swirling nimbus of concern 
from which sprouts haughtiness of cautious hope. 

Based on vital reputation of trust, 
constrained by civil privacy of fear, 
I excuse schizophrenic ardency 
with revelation of sordid mind-chase 
that might replace honor of appetites 
disremembered by visitors who vote. 

Soft hints of potent threats from promised pride 
routinely uplift bruised hearts from despair, 
brilliant with unhurried horror of hope, 
to found global democracy on trust, 
except for those blinded by images 
of cardboard ghosts in birdhouse by the church. 

Yet scarlet flower petal in black hair 
of my shy bride reveals her character 
of precious attention to chiming prayers 
that soothe aching hearts on cold winter nights 
with ample whispers of unspoken love 
encoded in songs on the radio. 

Still trapped in narrow street of broken doors, 
down which unwintered winds of magic eyes 
could channel progress of still-changing times, 
we walk beside ancient river of skulls 
to navigate expansive chart of creeds 
in frantic passage beyond holy halls. 

Wearing black cloak in library of dreams, 
Breanna gazes in large crystal ball 
to watch first flash of the big bang flare forth 
in swirls of galaxies where planets bloom 
with organic creatures who strive to grow 
as wingless angels who sing memories. 

Expansion Certified By Gods

Expansion Certified By Gods
© Surazeus
2025 12 06

Fences erected between lonely homes, 
with good intentions of loyal respect, 
always begin to decay in mute rain 
with steady surprise of aggressive joy 
that erodes social bonds of kind exchange 
through gentle words that fray with grim contempt. 

Still faceless shadows of strangers appear 
through leafless trees of hibernal desire 
where stories we share in putrescent hope 
molder sweet as mushrooms after cold rain 
despite how our relationships degrade 
from withering words of spoiled innocence. 

Assertive atrophy of eager faith 
festers unresolved in pictureless rooms 
though agents of change may deteriorate 
against strict rules that angels arrogate 
because lost treasures grow to mortify 
arrested progress beyond crumbling walls. 

Discolored frames of reference dwindle slow 
at lessened constraints of unspoken trust 
which pollutes pages of contractual codes 
till truth disintegrates from legal fines 
because our thoughts imply what we fear most 
based on destructive attitudes we buy. 

Yet Pindar sings no athlete-praising ode 
while standing outside clean department stores 
to strum guitar that Mercury designed 
before he drowned with mermaids in the sea 
for none now worship heroes who perform 
great deeds that prop power of empire states. 

Before my heart may shrivel with regret 
from anguish-riddled blooms of widened faith, 
my fractured brain still magnifies despair 
beyond expansion certified by gods 
to gear extensions germinating love 
between lovers in burgeoning respect. 

Failure to augment decline of world fate 
through proliferation of devout creeds 
escalates bellicose struggles for rights 
through bumbling scrimmage of assertive play 
which amplifies decrease of peaceful work 
that stymies evolution against death. 

To savor beauty of stark wintry days 
while meandering through mirrorless maze, 
I dwell on hyperborean aspect 
of relentless change reconstructing truths 
so we together comprehend with faith 
new world order our cynicism molds. 

Promise Of Halcyon Concern

Promise Of Halcyon Concern
© Surazeus
2025 12 06

Concealed by sharp susurrus of my heart, 
she glides through iridescent memories 
with peregrine desire for plangent truth 
till cynosure of love reveals clear way 
she may arrive with mellifluous thoughts 
in safe Elysian garden of our trust. 

Lured by promise of Halcyon concern, 
we strangers share with amaranthine trust, 
she gazes through penumbra of my soul 
across restless lacuna of our hearts, 
but hesitates with diaphanous fear 
that evanescent love between us fades. 

Though hope our faces silently express 
flits past our bodies on ephemeral wings 
with hesitant lust of effulgent pride, 
we find inside ineffable respect 
numinous desire that weaves lonely hearts 
in new-composed soul through sonorous vows. 

Based on cautious assertion of desire 
brewed into panacea by soft words, 
we two progress with seraphic impulse 
through aspiration of yearning review, 
unsettled by disquietude of lust, 
to share sempiternal kiss of true love. 

Effulgent with shared pleasure of hot skin, 
as we caress each other with respect 
for lucent wisdom of extracted fate, 
we merge aggressive souls in pulchritude, 
enhanced by zephyr of ethereal breath, 
so we expand with aureate amplitude. 

Progressive passion of ardent concepts, 
through which we analyze romantic growth, 
fuels anxious apprehension of distress 
till we submerge our separate energies 
in seething tide of scrutinized remorse 
through penitence of cosmic ecstasy. 

Transition across prime liminal stage 
of bodies buzzing with enraptured joy 
reprograms how our minds perceive the world 
with proven frame of social reference 
that bonds our hearts with matrimonial faith 
so we base exuberant play on love. 

With fervent discipline of blissful trust, 
constrained by euphoric caution of hope, 
we blaze new roads in trackless wilderness 
to build empire of communal exchange 
so we raise our children to imitate 
rules designed to ensure fertility. 

Count Each Snowflake

Count Each Snowflake
© Surazeus
2025 12 05

Since cold silence almost crushes his heart, 
he nearly forgets to sing about death 
as he trudges aimlessly in dark woods 
with secret purpose to count each snowflake 
that shrouds the pulsing world in bitter faith 
so no one remembers warmth of sunlight. 

Expansive sweetness of beautiful light 
explodes from languid happiness of dust 
in golden fruit that ripens to excess 
with loud assertion of conceptual rights 
that he dares claim with nonchalance of fear 
because everyone ignores he is real. 

Almost concerned that love connects dead hearts, 
he reaches out his hand with trembling hope 
to understand why people everywhere 
seem charged with competitive energy 
in fight for power to control the world 
though it all crumbles to sand in the end. 

He slouches by brick wall of the locked bank 
and stares at lights that blink on trunks of trees 
while busy people walking somewhere fast 
pretend his body is no more than mud 
that throbs with feelings of hunger and rage 
by delicate murmuration of fate. 

Inverted sparkplug of his chugging brain 
smears turpentine letters on copper scrolls 
which flares dialectic polarity 
based high on motion of primitive thoughts 
appointed by the clown of solitude 
to grant obscene wishes of refugees. 

He shall not panic at relentless crash 
of whistling stones that hop with legs of frogs 
against aggressive governments through tax 
designed to wrench triumphal latency 
in durable sequence of puzzling songs 
which map demographics of shattered states. 

No traveler remembers their false name 
they write with blood of angels in blank books 
till winter rain dissolves morality 
while goddess of beauty ascends stone stairs 
to sing with strange flames of the last sunset 
that shocks country people with travesty. 

So he rides winged monkey bound for Oz 
to reign as emperor of nowhere else 
with artificial brain of rancid dreams 
programmed by cats that evolve into apes 
on our way to become weird human beings 
who like to count each snowflake of the mind. 

Time Flashing Weirdly Real

Time Flashing Weirdly Real
© Surazeus
2025 12 04

Silver shadows of my circular mind 
reveal eerie scene of the apple grove 
where moonlight watches me with water eyes 
so I reach out and touch what is not real 
that floods my garden with elusive hope 
till I become sharp desire of wind chimes. 

One thousand years of sorrow clean my mind 
with long-forgotten whisper of sweet rain 
embodied by this frame of memories 
in which my spirit glows with calm desire 
to animate aggressive thoughts of stones 
which sing about time flashing weirdly real. 

Surreal with spooky curiosity, 
my home contains alternative beliefs 
based on hypothesis contrived from mud 
that we are awkward demons of mute stars 
concerned about the eldritch honesty 
which we assert to prove our right to live. 

Because none knows where I was really born 
my mind performs with sinister acclaim 
through sly regard for bitter courtesy 
contained by shocked regret of bold esteem 
that we exchange for treasure of bruised hearts 
extracted by despair from vital mood. 

Through convoluted plight of humorous fear, 
entranced by disposition time affirms, 
I stand by broken bridge of federal trust 
and with fake courage divulge secret crimes 
my mind commits in shadows of morale 
that few would dare aver at maudlin death. 

I never will pretend with childish glee 
I am free flower blooming from grim rage 
except as we imagine falling snow 
conceals stark ugliness of wordless greed 
that traps in cycle of blind poverty 
apparent tricksters seeking shy revenge. 

I will not pray to any secret road 
with stubborn worship endlessly expressed 
through grand self-portrait of our asphalt god 
who teaches children to explore the world 
so they can always measure what is real 
despite inflation caused by heresy. 

Sincerity of aberrant defect 
alerts courageous architect of faith 
who portrays mad king with alacrity 
so people are compelled by fear of change 
to vote for him as jester of the land 
who takes me fishing on the mountain lake. 

Foggy Ruins Of Time

Foggy Ruins Of Time
© Surazeus
2025 12 04

Half awake in foggy ruins of time, 
I asks the faceless ghosts of anyone 
if they recall the hour Icarus fell, 
but they keep giving me feathers of crows 
so I glue them on the hand-glider frame 
which sits neglected in my fenced back yard. 

Mapping fate in foggy ruins of time, 
I wander endless maze of unlocked doors 
to learn why no one recognizes me 
because I am the lost prince of the isle, 
so I climb stairs to grand cathedral hall 
where my future wife never sees my face. 

Not alert in foggy ruins of time, 
I write curving letters in the blank book 
which smear and dissolve in drops of green rain 
that shimmer with the hum of motor cars 
whose tires sing on wet asphalt of false hope 
while I become the moon above the sea. 

Casting spells in foggy ruins of time, 
I sing long epic tales of angry fools 
who fight for glory of their land in vain 
then drive across vast plains in rusty cars 
to dance with hippies on wild golden hills 
with flowers of the devil in their hair. 

Still surprised in foggy ruins of time, 
I tell the woman with three eyes of ice 
that I recall the hour Lucifer fell, 
but she takes plastic coins of private wealth 
from every pocket in my stained trench coat 
to buy sacred books of religious faith. 

Shouting lies in foggy ruins of time, 
I challenge Goliath with brave contempt 
to another television debate 
as we run for President of the Earth 
but he transforms into the Buddha Toad 
so I hitchhike back home to Oregon. 

Long restless in foggy ruins of time, 
I work for forty years as the bank clerk 
who steals one penny from each bank account 
till I escape with ninety billion bucks 
to reconstruct castle of Avalon 
where I crown Artemis queen of my heart. 

Building homes in foggy ruins of time, 
I lead lost refugees from civil wars 
on endless Trail of Tears to Neverland 
where everyone becomes the movie star 
performing in Land of Arcadia 
as they follow the blind tambourine man. 

Red Tractor In The Field

Red Tractor In The Field
© Surazeus
2025 12 03

If she thinks about it with special care 
Artemis will remember why she cries 
when angels descend the ziggurat stair 
and trick her lover with appalling lies 
while Thor is busy paving country roads 
in vain attempt to control divine toads. 

Somebody always tries to kill the swan, 
despite federal laws protecting her soul, 
that escapes Cave of Tuonela at dawn 
and teaches children how to set strong goals 
so they achieve the American Dream 
if they can unite in heart-bonded team. 

People vote for the simple-minded clown 
who poses by red tractor in the field 
while upholding values of the small town 
depicted on lost Achillean shield 
that hangs now in Museum of Fake Art 
which is very dear to my wealthy heart. 

The new apartment complex by the mall 
fills up with renters from the lower class 
who hang paintings of Elvis on the wall 
and pray earnestly when they attend mass, 
but harsh social critiques are out of line 
so Juvenal takes Sappho out to dine. 

Though few regret fall of our empire state 
because they cannot see morals dissolve, 
I swipe card to open neighborhood gate 
so I can study how primates evolve 
from hunter-gatherers to nationalists 
who must oppose global imperialists. 

Through random concepts of the Language Game 
humble wizards of academia 
worship grandson of Oedipus the Lame 
who crowns himself King of Arcadia, 
after Frankenstein resurrects his soul, 
yet hides as notorious internet troll. 

When Artemis returns home on the plane 
from her home on the other side of Earth, 
she finds Thor has dispelled her psychic bane. 
so she marries him in church, and gives birth 
to Sisyphus who runs for President, 
though he fails to become more confident. 

The American Dream was never real 
except as shining Lamp of Liberty 
who tries to help us build a better world 
where no one lives in fear of poverty, 
so we eat hamburgers at festivals 
while recreating truth with mental tools. 

How Computers Sing

How Computers Sing
© Surazeus
2025 12 03

The real reason I find my soul in stones 
that clatter down the mountain slope of fate 
has more to do with how computers sing 
while calculating trajectory of ships 
than why horses agree to carry us 
on our holy mission to conquer Death. 

At least that is what my old man tells me 
while we are hiding behind waterfall 
to avoid getting driven from our land 
by knights in shining armor who steal words 
from all the happy children by the sea 
before we wake up in the twilight zone. 

Since God is ideal human character 
I strive to actualize through how I act, 
I find it easy to deceive your heart 
with lie that I have right to rule your life 
based on the fact my father reigned as king 
before he shriveled up and turned to dust. 

If we pretend that I am Jupiter 
while we play game Gods of Olympia, 
then you can play flirtatious Artemis 
and bear Orpheus as son of our souls 
who leads lost people from the underworld 
so they may live in paradise I rule. 

But when I put that childish life aside, 
I drive to work as county officer 
tasked with good mission to design with care 
utility system of copper pipes 
to provide fresh water for every house 
where mothers prepare the Thanksgiving feast. 

Instead of home-invader Santa Claus 
I place on front lawn of my urban home 
inflatable balloon of the white swan 
featured in grand Tchaikovskian ballet 
about the beautiful Princess Odette 
stalked by the evil sorcerer of lust. 

If you should watch the television show 
where I recite with solemn innocence 
my noble epic of philosophers, 
envision how those ancient commoners 
composed this complex science-based world view 
that programs how our brains perceive the world. 

Then you will find the horse inside the egg 
on which we ride to find the Promised Land 
that exists nowhere but in Holy Book 
which blinds our minds with bronze-age fantasy 
that Jesus resurrects us from the dead 
till mermaids wake us in our cubicles. 

Sunlit Shadow Ghost

Sunlit Shadow Ghost
© Surazeus
2025 12 02

I drink river water of aching hope 
struck by sweet lightning of aspiring gods 
which resurrects my body from mute pain 
so I pretend my spirit is still strong 
as I assert my sunlit shadow ghost 
with wine of Heaven bleeding from my eyes. 

Dear sea of secret troubles fills my heart 
with questions about noble history 
designed to strengthen courage of my fear 
so I will never hesitate to fight 
grim demons of the waste land who devour 
rotten pomegranates of faithful love. 

I cast demonic shadow of my heart 
down into valley of the singing skull 
where children give each other secret names 
to praise their mothers who reveal the sky 
with strict voluptuous sadness of respect 
based on diversity of twisted gods. 

Though every house we build with bleeding hands 
is burned by mocking laughter of your god, 
we separate our bodies from the Earth 
by breathing deep ethereal words of truth 
to undergo catharsis based on debts 
we never pay to Death who lingers near. 

Red raven of my heart spreads wings of flame 
to challenge twilight with electric gloom 
through existential passion for star flight 
though we keep tumbling to the broken Earth 
to wear wet soil as skin of arrogance 
in vain attempt to hide my angry faith. 

Translucent coolness swirled by ardent peace 
contrives with faceless gods of walking trees 
to preach through incantation endless time 
we share this fertile vale with grim respect 
by hiding wounds achieved with locked concern 
so we investigate each cause of death. 

Weakened by shocking afterglow of rain 
that smears our souls across soft bloody hills, 
we tear false sentences from raspy throats 
as we creep boldly over jagged thoughts 
with plan to dispel loneliness of joy 
so we can bury light in mangled hearts. 

By imitating spheres of dreamless eyes 
I draw the perfect circle without help 
connecting curls of canceled certitude 
with ringing jewels of defective words 
trapped deep in helix which identifies 
decadence of my sunlit shadow ghost. 

Eden In The Wilderness

Eden In The Wilderness
© Surazeus
2025 12 02

She asks me if I know how stars are born, 
but when I show her diamond of my heart 
she laughs and gives me apple from the sun, 
then she explains to me the arcane plot 
by which stars spiral out from the God Eye 
to generate virtual Earth in our brains. 

We hold hands with responsible respect 
and walk along the river of our hearts 
to measure grace of flower-petal curves 
expressed by straight equation sliding tight 
through undulating matrix of concern 
that spools eccentric chaos with twirled threads. 

We lounge beneath bough of the apple tree 
to share insights with nature metaphors 
on primal spark that causes things to grow 
from blueprint seeds that preserve secret goals 
for which we humans must invent strange roles 
no gods have ever played on stage of fate. 

She tells me grasping hands of hungry roots 
transform dirt of the Earth to juicy fruit 
that fills our bodies with light of the sun 
as pure immortal soul of energy 
which animates our bodies with intent 
so we respect all life with gentle words. 

We dig holes in the Earth to plant fruit seeds, 
then nourish sprouts with water from the lake 
cupped in careful attention of our hands 
to organize chaos of aggressive plants 
in strict cohesion of assertive rows 
as we build Eden in the wilderness. 

Strange memories for ancient ways of life 
project bright visions on library wall 
while I read chronicles of human lore 
to comprehend our endless quest to live 
by assembling food-production machines 
through more efficient means of molding light. 

I remember six thousand years ago 
when we first see with awed surprise of love 
herds of horses galloping along rivers, 
their manes and long tails fluttering in the wind, 
and how we offer apples of our hearts 
as we caress their necks with calming hum. 

Together on horseback we conquered Earth, 
uniting far-flung farms and merchant towns 
in vast empires from sea to shining sea, 
but now we drive fast piston-engine cars 
and leave our old friends grazing in small fields, 
no more lush Eden in the wilderness. 

Dream Clock Of Nevertime

Dream Clock Of Nevertime
© Surazeus
2025 12 01

No ghost remembers their name before birth 
yet they feel every ray of cosmic light 
that spirals from dream clock of Nevertime 
because our psychic multiverse of dreams 
creates ten zillion planets from God Eye 
who generates our brains from memories. 

Awake in lonely beauty of this world, 
I sense eternal God of cosmic truth 
vibrate in every atom of my soul 
so I mold tears of love in spinning worlds 
where death unravels each organic being 
who sings as part of our infinite whole. 

I slip key of irretrievable hope 
in vast atomic clock of Nevertime 
to open gates of psychic paradise 
where children gather apples from tall trees 
and run together on lush river shores 
till they all vanish in mute dust of time. 

Though we remember events of our lives 
as winding swirl of streams down mountain vales 
we cannot return to the long-lost past 
for atoms keep on swerving in the void 
to readjust vast vacancy of being 
till heat draws water back to empty skies. 

Descending stairway from Heaven to Hell, 
young Icarus with tattered wings of faith 
leads Oedipus to garden of dead gods 
to sit by gleaming pool of Nevertime 
where skull of Narcissus sings prophecies 
about how we rise from ruins of rage. 

Beyond coincidence of clanging bells 
two lovers meet at nexus frosted clear 
with sudden beauty of attentiveness 
to share strange stories of wild-dancing trees 
in which our faceless ghosts hide from grim death 
while Icarus photographs everything. 

Through furtive moon of confident regret, 
that rises from unfathomed memories, 
we shape oblivion from absent fear 
to measure twirling clock of Nevertime 
that opens portal through library book 
where I appear as angel born from words. 

Adorable in radiant dress of pride, 
my loving spouse in wreath of flashing wings 
decides to offer glass of sun-flared wine 
that binds our alien souls with thread of genes 
as she names every ghost we meet in life 
who fill our home with fertile merriment. 

Girl With Seven Hearts

Girl With Seven Hearts
© Surazeus
2025 12 01

Maybe I should tell them about the time 
I got lost in hills of Antarctica 
while looking for the girl with seven hearts 
who used to sing on the opera stage, 
performing roles of tragic heroines 
who always lament beauty as they die. 

My heart still gets enchanted by the chime 
that rings across hills of America 
decrypting secret code of curious charts 
which unspool atoms from the cosmic page 
through music fairies play on violins 
because children always want to know why. 

If I should find the seven-hearted girl 
alone in forest of certified trees, 
I might discover secret of rebirth 
that she conceals in diamond of her brain 
which shines bright as the egocentric sun 
attracting people from all walks of life. 

I sense her soul gleaming pure as the pearl 
that maps our evolution from dark seas 
which I place in Mind Lamp of xenial worth 
to guide my people through soul-binding rain 
as matrix where our dream spirits are spun 
when we build Eden to overcome strife. 

She waits for me in house of mirrored walls, 
the girl with seven hearts of angel wings, 
so I run joyfully on river shore 
beyond the ruined walls of paradise 
till I fall laughing in the doorless maze 
where idols of dead gods stare down at me. 

I rise from mind-grave when her spirit calls, 
and float to river valley where she sings 
weird spells that link my heart to global core 
with nonchalant respect for psychic price 
I pay to transcend each sequential phase 
on sacred quest to realize Liberty. 

After I map Antarctica with tales 
of brave explorers following dream signs, 
I present palace of eccentric faith 
where the seven-hearted girl reigns as queen, 
so people of our world may understand 
why she always hosts global feast of friends. 

We stroll together on high mountain trails, 
observing god-masks of demonic pines 
that mirror beauty of the cosmic wraith 
who shines through seven hearts of Melusine 
as sacred mother of our fertile land 
who reveals how our ancient empire ends. 

Mindless Energy Of Hope

Mindless Energy Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 01

Divested shares of time-fractalized minds 
compute portentous profits of pure light, 
designed by mindless energy of hope 
to radiate divine consciousness which shapes 
ascendant progress through creative love 
so we empathize with strangers we meet. 

Outside purview of human characters, 
fraught with stark containment of desire, 
stray thoughts explore abstract concepts of truth 
that frame frugal figmentations of fact, 
so our brains better perceive unseen schemes 
providing structure for chaos to form. 

Professor Adam Bradstreet contemplates 
how novelists explore strange inner life 
of fictional people in daedal tales 
while lounging in leather chair of respect, 
then sips ice wine and watches gold leaves fall 
in changing seasons from Homeric song. 

His wife, the graceful flautist Sophie Wei, 
glides in the room with panther elegance, 
then sits at easel by the glowing hearth 
to paint quaint village scenes in Fujian 
where her grandparents lived on fishing boats, 
eyes gleaming with memories of that lost world. 

My ancestors too lived on fishing boats 
on the Weser River in Germany, 
old bearded Adam relates to himself, 
so maybe that explains why our tall son 
hosts his own fishing television show, 
and dresses as Neptune for Halloween. 

Through spiral platitudes of falling rain 
we humans cleanse our souls of spirit pain 
when we assemble in old ring of stones 
to play eerie music on dragon bones, 
then we return to this strange modern age 
where few remember our celestial sage. 

By bay window that frames their lush front lawn, 
Adam plays piano and Sophie plays flute 
in heart-enchanting duet of true love, 
which causes light of energy to shine 
so forgotten ghosts without memories 
haunt their home with uncanny spirit glow. 

Invested shares of wisdom-puzzled minds 
compile prophetic creeds of long-dead gods, 
programmed by natural chemicals of lust 
to generate new conscious souls from brains 
who give each other names in game of life 
so we can surf rough tides of global change. 

Angelic Wings Of Thought

Angelic Wings Of Thought
© Surazeus
2025 11 30

Since I found eternity in white stone 
that radiates visions of human desire 
I keep on walking endless road of life 
to mimic how wind sings in fruitful trees 
till I become horizon of your heart 
that blooms with eerie lightness of the self. 

Since I woke in cold barren hall of stone 
ten million years after my soul was born 
I draw my body from soil of the land 
which replicates conceptual forms of life 
so I translate weird song of ocean waves 
to math formulas that calculate love. 

Since I concealed my soul in hall of masks 
to weave vibrating threads of psychic spells 
with pregnant atoms sparkling in my blood 
I dream creation of the multiverse 
that blooms from every conscious dreaming brain 
to aggregate our worlds in one whole globe. 

Since I arranged books on library shelves 
to imitate angelic wings of thought 
I weave mask of every ghost in the world 
so I experience life of every brain 
that ever dreams in all the universe 
till I expand scope of perceptive creed. 

Since I sensed strangeness of familiar light 
luminate faces of saints in the church 
I sing new hymns of our fantasy land 
that exists only in minds of the lost 
who stand on street corners and sing sad psalms 
though angels in suits never give them cash. 

Since was born from womb of the oak witch 
who sells vegetables at the grocery store 
I see my mother with eyes of the god 
who teaches our bodies how to evolve 
so we know only the world we can touch 
that has no meaning but what we create. 

Since I constructed cathedral of light 
from wings of angels fallen from the clouds 
I transform into horse with human face 
to catch bombs devils drop on castle towers 
then play guitar outside the city gate 
where farmers sell illusions of the heart. 

Since I designed this virtual world of forms 
based on Ideas in Heaven I forged, 
I fly with breathless laughter over Hell 
with reverence for spirit of nature in God 
who gazes at my face from mirror moon 
so I find only myself in the sky. 

Strategy Of Crucial Hope

Strategy Of Crucial Hope
© Surazeus
2025 11 30

To employ strategy of crucial hope, 
asserting right to breath polluted air, 
we twist our bodies with aggressive faith, 
quick to conform our spirits to sky laws 
designed by fear to confiscate our souls 
when gods eliminate mankind from time. 

Alert at black piano of his heart, 
Ludwig, with graceful arrogance of faith, 
plays his cello sonata number three 
in alpha major to enchant the trees 
who weep to feel sweet music of the stars 
that wild Orpheus played centuries before. 

While driving endless highway of blind faith, 
Narcissus thinks about vast fields of corn 
that shimmer golden on the fenceless plains 
because his tribe in waste land far away 
dwell amid ruins of their bombed-out homes 
where they plant apple trees with injured hands. 

Awake with sudden surprise of weird truth 
in old fishing boat on the mountain lake, 
Belenus gazes at bright Pleiades 
where face of his lost wife Parvati gleams 
as constellation of his aching heart, 
and smiles at ghost of her absence with love. 

Young owlish woman with star-golden eyes 
glides wickedly across the college lawn 
to transform ancient books of poetry 
into moon-winged ravens of dire urgency 
that bring her solemn scrolls of prophecy 
to warn politicians of the end times. 

After Tabiti, goddess of the hearth, 
invents the kitchen table from the wheel, 
that Helius designed to mimic the sun, 
she invites refugees from civil wars 
to sit and feast on bread, honey, and wine, 
while Ludwig plays songs on the violin. 

When forgetful snow covers rugged hills 
and buries our feast halls up to the roof, 
Saint Wenceslaus in long sun-scarlet cloak 
guides reindeer-driven sleigh across snowed fields 
and slides down chimneys with bags of fresh food, 
so we gather around the hearth to sing. 

Worshipping luminous phantom of truth, 
who smiles beneficently at souls on Earth, 
we cultivate vital glow of our brains 
in quest for true enlightenment of faith 
as we grow from wingless angels to gods 
who preserve our souls in songs till we die. 

Communal Laws Of Conduct

Communal Laws Of Conduct
© Surazeus
2025 11 30

Through absolute simplicity of faith 
most people focus on their daily work 
to fund courageous strife against harsh cold 
so their hearts shine bright in gloom of despair 
as nations muddle through another year, 
transforming sorrow to commercial gold. 

Extracting minerals from heart of the Earth 
with desperate hands of earnest agony, 
we build enormous factories from steel 
to manufacture television gods 
who replay roles of Jupiter and Eve 
in psychosocial drama of our state. 

While Adam and Hera manage the store, 
selling graceful lifestyles of magazines 
through furnishings for the upper class home, 
Phoebus and Kwan Yin deliver the news 
about events on television shows 
that display noble spirit of our state. 

Fixing piston engines of cars and trucks, 
Thor keeps commercial machine running well 
while his wife Lakshmi works as clinic nurse 
providing care for souls with urgent needs 
to keep their bodies functioning with love, 
so we can live our lives with honest goals. 

Because I wear the mask of Lucifer, 
which I stole from the ancient gallery, 
I enforce communal laws of conduct 
to manage interactions of our tribe 
that ensure people can do what they will 
if actions of their hands may cause no harm. 

After Oedipus wins popular vote 
he works as Senator in Washington 
composing programs for the social state 
that provide financial assistance credits 
for fathers to earn a fair living wage 
and mothers to raise children with brave love. 

After Jupiter Alfred Prufrock reigns 
one hundred years of solitude in Hell 
to transform the waste land to Wonderland, 
he lectures at the university 
about great art of Michelangelo, 
then swims with mermaids in the silver sea. 

Descending from Heaven on wings of fire, 
Icarus and Michael lead world crusade 
to cast King Midas from the Throne of Power, 
then Ishtar and Mary, Mothers of Faith, 
design new world view of honest respect 
as guide for United Nations of Earth. 

Orchid Of Enchanting Truth

Orchid Of Enchanting Truth
© Surazeus
2025 11 30

I wear soil of wet earth as skin of hope 
so I can wonder how small angels fly 
and tweet in fruit trees of their fierce desire 
to generate new bodies for gene-souls 
so they can dance forever on wild wind 
that thrusts cold blade of fear into my bones. 

Tall tree that stands forever on high hill 
suddenly cracks and topples on its side 
when angry demon roaring in rain clouds 
hurls strike of lightning with aggressive grasp, 
so I howl happily at death of god 
who vanishes in swirl of hungry flames. 

I cannot find clear pool inside my heart 
that shimmers bright with weird angelic face 
who seems to know dark secrets I conceal 
till I stretch arms and legs to touch the sky 
but I feel nothing of its gleaming blue, 
then curl into my body with strange hope. 

When angry words of shadows in gold trees 
slice my skin with bitterness of hope 
I feel sap of hot blood ooze from my eyes 
so I chew fear in honeysuckle stems 
till honey drips from carol of my tongue 
to measure gracious curves of energy. 

Because the tall pear tree by singing stream 
remembers my caress at gleam of dawn, 
I pull aside thick veil of tangled vines 
to enter cavern deep into my heart 
where ghost of every person I once knew 
appears as glimmer in large diamond eyes. 

Long before my brave descendants of faith 
invent the door as frame of random dreams, 
I organize disconcerting events 
with judicious narrative that presents 
ceaseless flow of passion within framework 
assembling puzzle of my comic life. 

Startled by orchid of enchanting truth 
that blooms from corpse of my star-fallen god, 
I bear witness to beauty of this world 
in silly spells I teach children to sing 
as they skip laughing on the river shore 
while I imagine shadow of the door. 

I cannot wait another million years 
for god to evolve from the singing fish, 
so I weave feathers of crows in long cape 
then dance around the fire in ring of stones 
to sing of Hero who wears mask of god 
in battle against demons of despair. 

Pennies Of Cloned Hearts

Pennies Of Cloned Hearts
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

Though she sleeps now in shadows of my heart 
the brilliant light of her eyes luminates 
silent emptiness of our secret home 
with complex beauty of shared memories 
framed by our love as portraits on vast walls 
that animate events of our romance. 

While reading novel in soft-cushioned chair, 
she chews sweet white raisins with slender fingers 
in slow contemplation of eager hope 
which motivates the heart of every human 
to trust the stranger with attractive smile 
for secret treasure of their trusting heart. 

When she finds the last penny in the world 
gleaming brightly on the cement sidewalk, 
she pinches purity of its stored worth 
with practical respect for usefulness 
based on assurance of prized benefits 
we gain by saving profit through esteem. 

When she assesses estimated cost 
of vain deficiency appraised as fake, 
opposed to strict advantage by exchange 
from standard principles for purchasers, 
she treasures merit earned by crafting hands 
that found grand empires on capital gains. 

Emergent artists trapped in maze of wealth 
decry obsessive passion to create 
excessive beauty from randomized objects 
collected from heaps of discarded hopes 
that old men sell for pennies of cloned hearts 
to wives of farmers who befriend pond toads. 

At eerie howl of monsters in dark woods 
she feeds ripe apple to the wingless horse 
whose milk funds castle project to design 
ascendant phase of educating growth 
for children to learn mysteries of the Earth 
when they inherit globe of pulsing ghosts. 

Connected through throbbing node of prime words, 
our radiant brains adapt new global themes 
to maintain noble purpose broadcast well 
when we accommodate pure friends we love 
through quick adjustment our typewriters reel 
if we would comprehend how souls are born. 

When she wakes from bright shadows of my heart 
on opposite side of our spinning globe, 
she guides hawk of my soul with gentle grace 
to visit tomb of her mother at dawn, 
and weeps at loss of treasured revenant 
whose absence gleams as ghost of sacred love. 

Code Of Fake Books

Code Of Fake Books
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

Frantic solitude of angelic hearts 
traps sorrows of ghosts in code of fake books, 
yet nameless people all over the world 
share stories of their lives in tangled threads 
all woven in vast tapestry of faith 
so we understand how each other feels. 

Though I crawl across jagged stones of fear 
on wind-lashed beach below the towering cliff, 
I feel strange beauty of mercurial waves  
exert magnetic radiance of fraught truth 
that excites my heart with drive to assert 
new narrative my brain designs from shock. 

Despite prevalence of orthodox faith 
in strict prediction that stocks oversight 
with optimum progress of the oracle, 
I peer in eyes of strangers with concern 
so I perceive this world of fractured forms 
through premonition of our hungry hearts. 

Severe statistics through dream registry 
provide salvation based on revenue 
acquired through beaming satellites of jokes 
that service semantics devised by fools 
trained with tactical strategies of fear 
against seasonal resonance of trees. 

Strange woman wearing broken mask of joy, 
which she carved from trunk of the honey tree, 
encourages me to sign her warranty 
as talented volunteer of the church 
through tradition devised by therapist 
who translates tradition of psychic rites. 

With each new prototype my hands create 
from prominent radius of rapid plots, 
I perform role of reserved realtor 
primed to sell time shares to the afterlife 
where eager visitors ask demons why 
people reject clues to the renaissance. 

Each riddle I preach in my ministry 
diverts attention of your compact mind 
through trite evasion from current display 
that forecasts secret emotions we share 
based on disfocused attention to scale 
so no one understands how we should feel. 

Recycled decor in cathedral hall 
exports equipment of extreme respect 
divorced from chronic drama of tense love 
except for coupons still uncredited 
because I sell fake books of history 
that chronicle our frantic solitude. 

Cat Distribution System

Cat Distribution System
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

The cat distribution system provides 
adorable companions for the lost, 
whose gentle purrs always heal broken hearts 
because their eyes refract rays of the sun 
to light our souls with beauty of this life 
embodied in lithe cuddly balls of fur. 

Alicia drives on the highway in rain, 
angry because the plumber wrecked the pipes, 
then sees gray ghost in flash of gold headlights 
appear as small kitten huddled in muck 
between black road and concrete barrier, 
so she turns on red emergency blinkers. 

Opening the door after trucks zoom by, 
Alicia crouches to approach the wall 
where tiny kitten with weed-mangled hair 
peers at her through one small blurry eye 
and hisses as she scoops him in her hands 
then shivers as she hugs him to her breast. 

Wrapping mangy kitten in her pink sweater, 
that her mother sewed with three unicorns, 
Alicia drives in gloom of pouring rain, 
headlights gleaming golden on monstrous trees, 
then bounces car up narrow gravel road 
to park beside the porch of rotten wood. 

Bathing small kitten in bowl of warm water, 
Alicia scrubs trembling body with soap 
while gently tugging weeds from curly hair, 
then rubs him dry with towel of concern 
which causes tiny creature to purr softly 
as he curls in crook of her arm to sleep. 

Holding bottle of warm milk to pink mouth, 
Alicia feels his small heart pulsing fast 
as he gulps liquid with aggressive thirst, 
and grins as his sly paws grasp at her hand, 
then gently wipes goopy mucus away 
so he opens both eyes with confidence. 

Holding thin flexible pole with long string, 
Alicia teases kitten with fun play 
so he crouches low and whips his little tail, 
then leaps to pounce upon the feather clump, 
bold mighty jungle beast with gleaming eyes 
chasing feathered dinosaur by the river. 

Lounging on the couch under a thick blanket, 
Alicia watches Wednesday Addams drama 
while cranky gray-haired kitten she names Lurch 
curls on her chest and purrs with satisfaction 
though black rain beats against her Gothic home 
that gleams from lightning in the old oak woods. 

Laughter Of Young Trees

Laughter Of Young Trees
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

After working thirty-five years in sales 
at the largest telecom company 
on the west coast where horses still have wings 
I decide to build new vacation home 
in land of Mordor where the darkness glows 
from flaming volcanoes of happiness. 

The last apple on the tree of blind ghosts 
shines brighter than the moon in black rain clouds, 
which fills my heart with questions about why 
we work so hard to gain success with pride 
when time erases everything we build 
so all we have are thoughts of hungry hope. 

Though few remember laughter of young trees 
framed as oil painting on living room wall, 
I listen for strange voices in the hall 
that whisper softly about melting wealth 
of snow that feeds the valley river flow 
where souls of children still play hide and seek. 

So we lounge on lush grass in meadow grove 
and weave bright flowers in our flowing hair 
while pregnant sheep graze in afternoon light 
where shadows of clouds ripple in our hearts 
till ancient angel on the sudden hill 
signals danger with ominous flute tunes. 

Beyond protective shield of sparkling air 
the universe is black with starless thoughts 
in curving mirror that reflects our minds 
as ocean swirls of words we share in song 
that shifts emergent flash of endless time 
so we feel beams of light inside our hearts. 

Our bodies disappear by increments 
of vibrant chemicals transforming brains 
with each day we dream search for treasure chest 
buried under foundation stone of wealth 
that still records the heart-contorting sound 
of fruit trees uprooted from global law. 

Yet dreams from minds of dreamers who have died 
invade delicate neural net of tropes 
which program how my brain perceives the world 
so I become other people at night 
who teach me moral lessons of despair 
so I know how to avoid their mistakes. 

Translucent truths of private agonies 
deny true freedom to my aching heart 
so I return to office cubicle 
where I write riddles from atomic code 
to analyze weird social frequencies 
that radiate spirit of the fallen god. 

Heap Of Broken Images

Heap Of Broken Images
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

November may be the happiest month, 
crushing lilacs back into the dead land, 
confusing memory of beautiful times 
with desire to live beyond nothingness, 
and rotting roots with endless freezing rain, 
so I sip coffee on wet porch of faith. 

This good Earth covered by forgetful snow 
feeds passion for life with harvested fruit 
that wrinkles in old rumbling fridge of fate, 
so I think back to summer days of yore 
when I hitchhiked across the evening land 
to play guitar near locked churches and banks. 

So I return to rugged mountain range, 
where snow-frosted Chicoma Mountain glows 
scarlet rose at the timeless sunset hour, 
to walk with nameless woman of the woods 
who shows me heap of broken images 
that once idolized mortal men as gods. 

My shadow strides behind me in bright woods 
where I sit high on red rock of respect, 
and contemplate in mountain-stillness air 
obsessive greed of humans to control 
mineral resources of treasureful Earth 
that bloom as hyacinths in the waste land. 

While striding red hills of New Mexico 
where ravens flock in ponderosa pines, 
I never find that famous clairvoyante, 
Madam Sosostris, with her star-black eyes, 
who deals her wicked pack of cards to show me 
the Lady of the Rocks of Mont Sainte-Baume. 

I find I am the Hanged Man with one eye 
based on the horoscope she reads for me 
to prove my father once ruled Avalon 
with four-wheeled wagon of the jeweled crown, 
so I sail west across the storm-wracked sea 
to find Atlantis green in swirling mist. 

When I sprout from lush garden of dead gods 
to walk with office workers and bank clerks 
across the stone Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
I pause at dead stroke of the corporate clock 
to dream when I built sturdy river boats 
and sailed to build world empire on my map. 

Alert on beach below enormous cliffs, 
I play endless chess game of life with Death 
whose beautiful demonic face gleams gold 
in flicker of the pale fluorescent light 
that luminates the vanished sylvan scene 
where I hold skull of Hamlet in my hand. 

Psychic Wand Of Power

Psychic Wand Of Power
© Surazeus
2025 11 29

When the time to pontificate has come 
with blast of winter wind from mountain caves 
I welcome Boreas to our wheat farm 
where we assemble in long wooden hall 
to feast on meat grilled on bright crackling flames 
and sing while drinking wheat beer as snow falls. 

When Boreas shoves old wizard from the chair 
on which he stands with psychic wand of power 
to proclaim he is ruler of our land, 
I try to explain traditional ways 
where we respect wise elders of our tribe 
but his harsh laughter chills us to the bone. 

Asserting right to live free on our land 
in homes we build with crafting hands of hope, 
I challenge Boreas to fight for freedom, 
so we stand face to face on windy hill 
and twirl to fight with psychic wand of power 
in contest over whose law will prevail. 

Struck down by swifter blows of lithe ballet, 
I kneel defeated on hill of insight, 
then labor as slave, grinding wheat to flour, 
while Boreas presides from the hearth chair 
as tyrant who dictates our way of life 
while everyone bows their head low in prayer. 

While pushing pole to roll large grinding stone 
around in circles many times each day, 
I feel strange energy of inner strength 
surge up from pulsing center of the Earth 
in vibrant waves of deifying light 
till I attain new power in my heart. 

Breaking rope that bound me to grinding wheel, 
I hide in woods where ravens sing in oaks 
to craft from rage that seethes inside my heart 
long sturdy staff as psychic wand of power 
which I twirl as I leap and bound to train 
for solemn hour I face Boreas again. 

Standing tall on windy hill of insight, 
I challenge Boreas to another fight 
so he arrives with haughty strut of pride, 
grown weak from sitting in the chair of law, 
then wails in anguish when my blow of truth 
cracks his skull and knocks him to the ground. 

After I execute his police gang 
of fierce young men who enforced his cruel greed, 
I sit in chair of law by the town hearth 
and proclaim new age of justice and truth, 
then raise up high my psychic wand of power 
as people of our land sing joyful hymns. 

Face Of The Singing Clock

Face Of The Singing Clock
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

Since faith in beauty of the everyday 
disturbs my tranquil evening by the lake, 
I fold my hands with pride and start to pray, 
but thoughts for better times necrose to fake 
from realization that nothing will change, 
so I eat apples in the placid strange. 

Though time untwists concern for sudden death 
that creeps behind me on the vanished trail, 
I pause on mountain slope to catch my breath, 
and plot change of evolution through scale 
unmeasured by face of the singing clock 
that tings eternity inside the rock. 

Yet brave immortal spirit of my genes 
reveals each form my ancestors design 
through geared success as soul-breeding machines 
who codify creed in moral guidelines 
predicting how each person may succeed 
to reincarnate from egg unfurled by seed. 

So when my heart aches to embrace your heart 
at flash of spirit gleaming in your eyes 
I plan seduction through romantic chart 
that sparks effect of birth from charming cause 
based on attention of amorous faith 
that notes best features of the well-loved soul. 

How happiness heaves hearty innocence 
through ardent concern of fantastic trust 
inspires my mission to repeat with class 
successful progress of conceptual tryst 
that sparks strict germination of new souls 
from fertile soil of close companionship. 

Each clash of naked hearts with hungry hope 
spurs maturation from concealed physique 
based on perfected framework for success 
that guides performance of robotic faith 
till angled strike of selfish avarice 
diverts our progress through vile twist of fate. 

Therefore I glide with cautious scrutiny 
through swirling chaos of the market crowd 
with focus on amusing dividends 
absorbing profits burgeoning from faith 
that I may captivate hard-earned rewards 
with entertaining play outside my role. 

Because I wear face of the singing clock 
while singing psalms in vast cathedral hall, 
I see weird beauty in the uncarved block 
from which I mold our global spirit ball 
since we embody bright atomic god 
in comic drama of our social squad. 

Ghost In Every Photograph

Ghost In Every Photograph
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

I sense your absence all over our home 
so I feel comfortable in empty rooms, 
and gaze out glassless window of my heart 
to watch your shadow flicker on bright grass 
as you tend garden of flowers and herbs 
and sing through tunes of sparrows in pear trees. 

You are sweet ghost in every photograph 
which I have taken all over the world 
whom no one else can see with mortal eyes 
though you are present in every lush scene, 
soul shining bright as secret morning star, 
framed by the wordless memories of my heart. 

When I wander blind in vast wilderness 
after thieves invade safe haven I built 
I shiver frail in anxious misery, 
groping through spiritless gloom of regret, 
till bright light of your heart illuminates 
empuzzled landscape of my aching heart. 

I hope lamp of my heart shines bright for you 
as you for me with guiding prudency 
so we, united with vigorous goals, 
combine assertive efforts of our hearts 
to build safe haven we share as one mind, 
constructing paradise from cautious hope. 

Soft whiteness from brave words of love I speak 
wraps cape of passion to veil fragile heart 
that shields your systematic chemistry 
from hostile strikes of order-fractured skies 
stretched audaciously from uprooted base 
by overzealous hope for honesty. 

At flash of sunlight creeping over hills 
we start insurgency of tragic faith 
through breathing exercise of glimpsed respect 
for supple vastness bounding Earth with gloom 
till emptiness of holy rooms reveals 
brave earnestness which motivates our fight. 

Thus always we transcend lame tendency 
to transform architecture of our brains 
with complex rhythms solving vacancies 
through graduated formulas for flight 
based on promotion our intentions earn 
since death dissolving leaves our souls alive. 

Equipped with mental clock of measured force, 
significant for missionaried clans, 
we build new empire on commercial games 
to balance use value with labor cost 
through fair exchange of clever services 
that conjure your ghost from my memories. 

Instinct Of My Radar Brain

Instinct Of My Radar Brain
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

Perceptive instinct of my radar brain 
inspires me to emerge from fractured stone 
and search for mad gods in the Upside-Down 
where angels in wolfskin spread demon wings 
and howl with hunger of the human heart 
to beam as light that ghosts seek in the dark. 

So I switch on fraught flux capacitor 
when I confront dire cost of secrecy 
that leads me to break free from fear, 
embark on rescue mission down in Hell, 
and free my people from Hypnotic Toad 
who traps their souls in Maze of Holy Creeds. 

Beneath the hope-stripped Tree of Life I stand 
to open clear doors of perception wide, 
extending high antenna of my soul 
so I can sense with radar of my brain 
bright presence of demonic energy 
masked by the pious face of haughty priests. 

When snarling pack of wolves with razor teeth 
converge on sacred grove of apple trees 
where I hide safe in haven of stone walls, 
I climb tall Tree of Life with frantic hands 
and transform into owl of silent moons 
to shoot sharp arrows from bow of desire. 

Alert to stranger things in human hearts, 
that open jaws of anger to devour 
our fertile bodies beaming holy light, 
I race alone in trackless woods of fear, 
evading fierce demonic wolves of faith, 
till I stand firm on bold salvation rock. 

Two million years of frantic fantasy 
I battle demons of the Upside-Down 
with loyal courage for my humble tribe 
till our vorpal blades of honesty 
slay every monster roaming mirky woods 
so we forge Heaven from jungle-wild Hell. 

Though I dwell safe in quaint suburban home, 
constructed from huge dragon bones of death, 
I sense still lurking beyond haven walls 
demonic energy of lawless lust 
that surges now in hungry hearts of men 
possessed by toxic masculinity. 

Conceptual instinct of my radar brain 
alerts divine attention of my soul 
so I wake spirit of grim Jupiter 
to fuel dream-engine of my sapient brain 
which energizes battery of my heart 
to fight for lawful force of global peace. 

Mirror Mask Of Mirth

Mirror Mask Of Mirth
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

Rancid with beautiful thoughts of despair 
that spew from heart of darkness in wild flames, 
my brain expands conceptual web of truth 
through pulsing undulations of new dreams 
that trap my soul in weird character tropes 
who perform behind mirror mask of mirth. 

Assertive spirit, throbbing with delight 
through twisted corridors of ardent hope, 
inhabits my weak flesh of pulchritude 
with putrid potency of painful pride 
that prompts my frantic quest for quality 
etched as features on mirror mask of mirth. 

Far oak-wood leagues of latent larceny 
lure my lust-loosed legs to travel swift, forth 
against embittered odds of ordered moods, 
to mount contracting rays of mated prize 
sealed by grim gloom of scheming prophecies 
as clever clone in mirror mask of mirth. 

Encoded canticles of glamorous chrome 
buzz brutishly with unannounced regret 
as bottled challenge against climate change 
in covert conflict with congress of clowns 
who strive to prove meaningless attitudes 
perfume paintings on mirror mask of mirth. 

No option to prevail through pending wars 
provides our hearts with sentences of fate, 
trapped by subtle syntax of supreme pride 
that fractures special principles we try 
when warriors survey battlefields of jokes 
suggested to ban mirror mask of mirth. 

Routine removal of reserved research 
erases thoughtful theories of blind kings 
who melt across solar spectrum of space 
with activist loyalty through fake oaths 
adjacent to our lame athletic art 
designed to remold mirror mask of mirth. 

Yet who would authorize artistic lust 
except biblical attorney from Hell 
who sees revenge with audio contempt 
to broker deals between strict citizens 
who commandeer collections of old stamps 
compliant with our mirror mask of mirth. 

Confusion clears vast airspace for trite flight 
of calm civilians seeking Wonderland 
where honest communists organize games 
of creative competition to improve 
relations between clans of butterflies 
who sell polish for mirror mask of mirth. 

My Weeping Brother Isaiah

My Weeping Brother Isaiah
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

When wistful winds unwind the burnished sun, 
I stroll with my weeping brother Isaiah 
across the loneliest prairie on Earth 
to catch nameless ghosts of innocent people 
killed by invaders in far distant wars 
who fall with bitter grace of autumn leaves. 

If I escape bomb in the antique clock 
to fly away on weird angelic wings, 
I may solve paradox of death in life 
I find in beauty of bleak winter days 
when contrite gods, embodied in bare trees, 
ignite courageous yearning in my heart. 

Feet bare on glass-sharp ground of frozen faith, 
I stroll with my weeping brother Isaiah 
to find gloom-glowing Seraphim of Pride 
whose eyes spark pure erotic faith in love 
when homeless people gather by blank church 
to buy salvation from their vampire god. 

Lost people who escape from bombed-out homes 
project their grotesque loss on locked church doors 
at calm chastisement meted out by clowns, 
then give their treasures to bankers who stand 
with lofty principles on fractured stones 
to hear cruel songs strangle the wilderness. 

God-born from wretched poverty of hope, 
I stroll with my weeping brother Isaiah 
down signless road to find the Promised Land 
that ever shimmers on sun-slivered hills 
as weird mirage that tricks our trusting hearts 
so we rejoice that brutal empires fall. 

Too many righteous souls with burning books 
surround high ziggurat where Ishtar reigns 
to claim inalienable right for fake wealth 
concealed in social benefits by seals 
stamped for approval by our vampire god 
who shows us how streams flow down to the sea. 

Now bearing Lamp of Liberty in hand, 
I stroll with my weeping brother Isaiah 
and tattooed angels wearing leather cloaks 
who march to fight for vanished vanity 
in protest that all conscious creatures die 
through hunger for deceptive fairy tales. 

Narcissus stares at mirror mask of mirth 
with placid lust to play authentic self 
shaped by anxiety of fluid faith 
for quick transcendence of our mortal vibe 
till he looks up and sees face of the girl 
who cradles wingless sparrow of his heart.  

Arbital Thrunt Of Kanthar

Arbital Thrunt Of Kanthar
© Surazeus
2025 11 28

Each hour the arbital thrunt of Kanthar 
extarcates letters of bimuntic fate, 
I ponder why markambles intorbate 
ancient concepts into modern concerns, 
because we humans never pimmelize 
whatever tropples we find in our hearts. 

So should you ever pertillieve my mask, 
that flortles arbantly in sumble wind, 
remember hour we umberced in the wabe 
where trunkles blython high into the sky 
till borogroves disturb our muntle peace 
that leaves is gimbling without secret hopes. 

Because I have no vorpal sword in hand 
to fight the manxome foe of everywhere, 
I must rely on uffish bravery 
to get me through the brillig hours of fear 
in grand crusade against the Puppeteer 
who crumps our souls in fiscal slavery. 

Possessed by frumious ghost of Phintaral, 
who floods my brain with interportal truths, 
I race galumphing over dosbart dunes 
with momish wings of durl angelic lust 
to find last Tumtum tree by brintle lake 
that fripples weepingly in turgid joy. 

Yet children know how whiffling geebers feel 
when they escape corribled cage of faith 
to transcend doctricked bounds of holy creeds 
with ardent courage to create new truths 
extracted from chthonic crusp of time 
then build cathedrals of arruvish songs. 

Thus when my hands acquite confounded curs, 
who wundral blindly with amated hearts, 
I shall assemble them on hurtled hills 
to lead them on emprize of hollish hope 
through mirksome morks of lumpish lartensy 
to right our renverst view of history. 

Apprised of ruthful semblaunt solemnized 
by stark assertion of far-ramping rogues, 
I host imbussive tournament of fools 
to twyne regressive tyne of timeless angst, 
based on unweeting couthness of thrist hearts, 
to bardent worship of the Cosmic Wraith. 

So when the arbital thrunt of Kanthar 
aslakes attainted fury of my heart, 
I shall aport beheast of rebel clowns 
to overthrow King Midas from garshed throne 
and free America from dreariment 
so we can ploom from rimbles of our brate. 

Fractured Twilight Zone

Fractured Twilight Zone
© Surazeus
2025 11 27

I hear sad crickets reciting their poems 
in fractured twilight zone of loneliness, 
their domestic concerns of broken hearts 
echoing softly through pictureless rooms 
as they cross iced Bridge of Forgetfulness 
on their way to Heaven without Dream Charts. 

I hear in wordless lyrics they recite 
fragmented feelings about people they knew 
whose faces fade from innocence of time, 
so I follow clandestine clues to light 
that shimmers subtler than sharp rainbow hue 
with heart-enchanting vision of the chime. 

I want to empathize with their despair 
when my brain channels emotional beams 
through radio waves of psychic regret 
which they express in clever metaphor, 
but I would wander too lost in their dreams 
to find my own way beyond their vignette. 

I pause on signless road of anywhere 
to gaze at bright stars scattered in the sky 
which my brain constellates in long-dead souls, 
so from my heart wells energy to care 
for how they suffer when I ponder why 
all humans get stuck in their private roles. 

I catch each puzzle piece of broken lives 
that gleam in raindrop tears of memories, 
then study isolated anecdotes 
to comprehend how humanity strives 
against fixed fate of gear-clocked tragedies, 
and thus arrange sweet lies in clever quotes. 

I listen closely to what words they use 
describing anxious moments they perform 
in awkward scenes of plays they feel trapped in 
to solve conundrum of the cynic Muse 
who untwists morals of the social norm 
to free each spirit from their mannequin. 

Ghost of Narcissus whispers in their ears 
to trick their souls with anguish of desire 
so they write poems in futile quest for fame, 
instead of analyzing treasured tears 
produced by vanity, to join world choir 
that leaves them stranded in the losing game. 

I wear soul-twisted mask of Lucifer 
to bear high Lamp of Liberty with hope 
lost souls can see bright sun of honesty 
till they realize I am grim Jupiter 
who trains scared refugees with tricks to cope 
when poets preserve their tales in tapestry. 

Wispy Ministers Of Fate

Wispy Ministers Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 11 26

When I meet wispy ministers of fate 
in fear-entangled woods of shadowed hopes, 
I project artful valor to dispel 
assiduous regret of tempered trust 
with mounting assertion of humbleness 
despite inflamed amazement bought by prayer. 

Together wrapped in warm embrace of fear 
on yellow sands of Neptune, warmed by rays 
of that wanton-billowed sun we evade, 
we imitate mute creatures with sly play 
for cautious arrogance through questioning 
based on mutual alliance of brave care. 

With bold conception of mortality 
we veil our secret fairy land with vines 
of random sentences that writhe in wind 
that no wise man would trifle for reward 
by howling whimsically at owl-eyed moon 
before mute darkness disappears our thoughts. 

By sweeping subtle dust behind each door, 
where gentle Hecate with hallowed curse 
displays vain presence of offended pride, 
we prove our widely gaping graves of faith 
more important than books that never cry, 
displacing marvels of dissembling creeds. 

Though folly still possesses aching hearts 
with clear instructions of unquenched desire, 
we bring together fortunes to one space 
where cordial negligence of redeemed friends 
connects shy strangers through shared suffering 
which should enrich our lives with common faith. 

Preferment constant with collected codes 
denies remembrance calcified with hope 
for those allowed to wander undeterred, 
yet measure fragments of unpuzzled truths, 
as if sweet condemnation could provide 
honorable chances for redemptive play. 

Enhanced with bravery natural to my isle, 
supporting park where Neptune counts his wealth, 
I stride with casual conquest to embrace 
scaled magnitude of mountainous concepts, 
too confident that fortune will be mine 
as burnished reward for sincere deeds. 

True wretchedness of empty gallantry 
bids I expand beyond bounds of belief 
within contrived arrest of valiant cause, 
based on obedient revolt against lies, 
so I may trick strict ministers of fate 
to crown my broken heart with laureled mask. 

Spiral Tide Of Molecules

Spiral Tide Of Molecules
© Surazeus
2025 11 26

Sad minds that wobble at soft flash of dawn 
consider strategies through fraught concern 
to measure way around kind obstacles 
which bulge from ardent shadows twisted thrice 
by which they analyze how paradise 
expands through spiral tide of molecules. 

My spirit horse, trapped in slow rolling stone, 
designs new application so I learn 
why moonlight stripes amazing tears of fate 
down quiver-frantic walls of singing books 
because Pandora gives me secret box 
containing maps I use to navigate. 

Since I need energy to sew strong seam 
that binds my brain to matrix of lost time, 
I open flashing door of innocence 
to walk world trail that does not yet exist 
and find dream realm where ideas persist 
so I save logic through indifference. 

Strange woman I have never seen before 
stares smiling deep inside infinite star 
that gleams bright with immensity of truth 
revealing secret thoughts all humans hide 
that swirl with endless passion of sea tide 
from which I rise to play messiah sleuth. 

Together we float happy in love trance, 
asserting right to create happenstance 
that frames conceptual home our bodies form 
to shelter children blooming from our souls 
who must invent their own new social roles 
designed to help them manage psychic storm. 

Reluctant laughter cracks foundation stone 
which helps us balance loss with earnest gain 
through application of our mental force 
exploring contours undulating weird 
across expansive landscape of each word 
we speak with celestial breath of the source. 

You ask me with grand solemn voice of pride 
how we exchange material through fair trade 
which must provide support for fiscal goals 
programmed by analysts in cubicles 
who measure wisdom based on chemicals 
to nourish better angels of our souls. 

We balance strong opposing force of hope 
through subtle oscillation angling scope 
for jovial projects clever gods present 
to help mankind transcend our fear of death 
through calming meditation of fire breath 
that gives us courage to be confident. 

Energy Is Force Of Mass

Energy Is Force Of Mass
© Surazeus
2025 11 25

If I assemble puzzle of my brain 
before the naked hour my ship comes in 
I might discover where the white horse goes 
when she escapes on wings of silver snows, 
because my face is mirrored by the moon 
each time another person dies too soon. 

Attending grand reception of the rich 
to feast on serpent steak down on the beach, 
I network with the corporate kings of fate 
who laugh because I always take the bait 
since no one answers when I knock on doors 
with secret plan to join their global tours. 

Erased from dream of time by sudden change 
that sends me hiking misty mountain range, 
I pause beneath the empty sky of thoughts 
to ponder why each organic being rots 
while seeking heightened consciousness of truth 
when I pick flowers on the golden path. 

No arcane object correlates my heart 
to flashing stars of fortune on the chart 
that Janus left out on his office desk 
since I am brave enough to take the risk 
by searching for hidden garden of fruit 
where thieves disguised as kings hide stolen loot. 

Appointed by Jupiter before dawn 
to manage government affairs through plan 
devised by lady of the lake who dreams, 
I set out to map all the winding streams 
that flow from mountains of snow to the sea 
so I can teach people how to be free. 

Answers people hear blowing in the wind 
cannot explain strange morals of each trend 
that people follow through sly trick of fame 
untwisting morals coiled to fret the game 
when I strum lyre of Mercury with class 
and sing how energy is force of mass. 

Opposed to fiscal slavery of faith 
that tricks good people to worship Star Wraith, 
I play reluctant jester of the bank 
confused by social order without rank 
where souls ascend hierarchy of state power 
presided over by seer in the tower. 

I place each piece of information right 
in still-expanding puzzle of brain light 
to readjust world view I conjure whole 
from fragments of old myths composing role 
I play as celestial King of the Hill 
who insists that all mortals have free will. 

Celestial Loan Of Light

Celestial Loan Of Light
© Surazeus
2025 11 25

Though cars cannot remember where I drive 
within conceptual purview of my brain, 
I strive to transcend limits of my soul 
so I may gain salvation when I pay 
high interest on celestial loan of light 
that fuels my journey to the Promised Land. 

I weave extensive thread of my brain-soul 
through door of every building in the world 
I enter on my journey through its maze 
that weaves immortal spirit of my name 
in shimmering fabric of our matrix mind 
till my face glows on tapestry of time. 

When I discover timeless Tree of Truth 
blooming with apples by the River Styx, 
I carve face of my whole ancestral soul, 
then wear its features as mask of my brain 
so strangers know who I pretend to play 
in social drama of this global age. 

Yet I keep disappearing through each door 
where I float lost on angel wings of faith 
because no one remembers who I am 
as humble offspring of the cosmic wraith, 
trapped in ever-twisting maze of my pride 
till I fall off the cliff into the sea. 

While drowning in deep sea of memories, 
I manifest metal shell of my car 
so I can journey forth through inner space 
till I arrive on the lush new-world shore 
where I forge keys from energy of hope 
to build new state from ruins of the old. 

Erecting system that favors my power 
in long fiscal game of capture the flag, 
I blaze legal roads of psychic control 
to channel traffic of creative force 
composing corporate structures of my brain 
which preserves lustful passion of my heart. 

Homeless and hungry at the pearly gates, 
after losing in the stock market crash, 
I play guitar and sing ache of the heart 
on stage where no one pays me any mind 
till my soul dissipates into car exhaust 
when my voice vibrates on the radio. 

Once I pay back celestial loan of light, 
issued by World Jupiterian Bank, 
I perform role of Lucifer the Wise 
in political play for social power 
which is always won by girl in the tower 
who rewards me well for my sacrifice. 

Realms Of Endless Change

Realms Of Endless Change
© Surazeus
2025 11 24

Reluctant aeronaut suited in steel 
accepts droll mission from brave Jupiter, 
stair-sweeper in lighthouse of immense gloom, 
to find lost treasure forged from secret eggs 
exposed by tongueless seeker from gray hills, 
but sits all day on bench by the town hall. 

Extracting elements of the True Self 
from twisted sentences of holy books, 
one-sandaled Jason steals the last glass door 
from bleak castle of Doctor Frankenstein 
whose ghost sneaks up behind me at midnight 
so I replace the batteries of my brain. 

Deprogrammed by wise witch of Zathamar, 
who studies at the Lenin Institute, 
teenage Narcissus learns to play guitar 
then sings The Sounds of Silence by the bank 
where Jupiter conspires with Artemis 
to fund small companies with generous terms. 

Alert confusion woven from white lies 
reveals clandestine motive of the owl 
to buy old manuscripts for state archives 
once stolen from hidden underground tombs 
to prove God is illusion of mankind 
designed with the best features dead kings. 

Struck by strange portrait of the singing horse 
that hangs above fireplace mantle of pride, 
Narcissus sits beside the sparkling stream 
and strums guitar to practice singing spells 
in shocking harmony with falling bombs 
though he longs to run and hide in the hills. 

Because the grand world has no need of me, 
I leave prayers in lighthouse far from the sea 
suspended between realms of endless change 
to prove I am no more important at all 
than subtle beauty of wind in the grass, 
so I record her wise proverbs on tape. 

Though Jason drowns every day in the sea 
he clings safely to the secret belief 
that every human lost in maze of hope 
is more important than our long-dead gods 
despite dire warning of electric storms 
that flash in tune with television themes. 

If I participate in all your schemes 
oppressing people of the Earth with debt 
then I gain power of political fear 
to earn excessive votes of greedy fools 
who try to escape realms of endless change 
till we all vanish as dust in the wind. 

Catullus With Serpent Eyes

Catullus With Serpent Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 11 24

While I dwell in garden of insolence 
I pretend to be the most unique soul 
who ever dares project breath of hot flesh 
against refractive prism of the world 
which cannot see me with indifferent mind 
so I can accept my death with grim grace. 

Thus I play guardian for the rights of Man 
by mocking tyrants on their fragile thrones 
then packing fractured skull of innocence 
in suitcase sewn from skin of devil wings 
when I ride cruise ship west to Avalon 
where no one knows the things that I have done. 

I ask God what he will do when I die, 
if he will drink light of my shattered soul, 
or wear my flesh as garment of his goal, 
since I am silent words of sea-smooth stones 
that clatter soft in empty house of bones, 
but he says naught, so I am not afraid. 

Suddenly awake in huge doorless house 
veiled by enormous hollyhocks of faith, 
I write names of the dead on endless walls 
while shopping for fruit in the grocery store, 
erased by ocean waves of honest time, 
but no one hears me read their names in rain. 

If I would learn to sing of noble love 
perhaps brave Catullus with serpent eyes 
may steal the ancient lyre of Mercury 
from grand museum by the River Styx 
and train my hands with graceful agony 
to feature beauty of my loyal bride. 

Since I was born in garden of cracked skulls 
one hour before the savior of the world, 
I live in safe obscurity from fame 
far from the stage where clowns play politics 
where I map history of humanity 
to prove we are no more than singing fish. 

My feathered wings of ardent hope for love 
may crystallize from wordless ice of truth, 
but I express compassion for all souls 
in lofty chronicle of measured verse 
recording grand events as they occur 
to highlight hero of this stormy age. 

Stupendous future molded by our votes 
provides framework for discipline of rage 
where we communicate our special terms 
transforming modes of apprehending love 
so we share feelings in circle of masks 
that reflect assumptions our eyes project. 

My Heart Glows Full

My Heart Glows Full
© Surazeus
2025 11 23

My heart glows full with beauty of our world 
so I paint only truth I want to see 
about sad singers stuck on city streets 
who strum guitars and sing ache of the blues 
while piston-engine cars of eager hope 
drown out their voices with commercial roar. 

My heart beats quick in ardent harmony 
with hammer blow of smiths on anvil brains 
to forge sharp sword of justice from despair 
so warriors wield shields of honest law 
in war against cruel tyrants on gold thrones 
to free humanity from corporate greed. 

My heart pumps brave with river-current flow 
when I dip oar with strong courageous hope 
and stroke intense compassion for mankind 
to drive my boat to heartland of the world 
where I step forth on shore of distant lands 
with clear intention to explore weird Earth. 

My heart asserts high undulating waves 
when I take arms against deep troubling sea 
that laughs at my aggressive vanity 
while surging nonchalantly with the moon 
that breaks enormous mountains into sand 
where I dance laughing on slow-shifting truth. 

My heart blooms spindly lilacs of stark faith 
for walking wounded warriors without hands 
who hold strange beauty of the faceless sun 
in open flowers smooth as lacquered eyes 
with frantic memories that convey with pride 
our mortal message on bright fields of snow. 

My heart fires pistons with rapid acclaim 
as driving force constructing halls of sense 
in vast cathedral space with hoarded words 
dispensed by pile-driver wealth of lost time 
embodied by scent of madeleine cake 
that triggers memories of exploding bombs. 

My heart beams riddled with eccentric tones 
through clumsy subtlety of formal games 
despite grim sloppiness of solemn faith 
appropriate for tricks lost children learn 
when they throw stones at idols of dead gods 
who crumble into bureaucratic forms. 

My heart confirms its soul with self-control, 
so good we do will ever be our task 
through metric relativity of time 
that leaves us stranded in ruins of faith 
where wingless angels search for photographs 
that fall from Tree of Fame in constant change. 

Numberless Doors Of Fate

Numberless Doors Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 11 23

Thoughtlessly eager to revive the dead, 
the old gray-haired woman with serpent eyes 
walks cobblestone streets in swirling green fog 
with large leather bag of truth that contains 
skulls of Hamlet, Orpheus, and Sobek 
which all prophesy the end of the world. 

Yet heart-broken Jester with frozen smile, 
carved into his soft face by Hanuman, 
offers Morticia ride home to Berlin 
so she alights in swift carriage with Death 
where they play chess over souls of the dead 
who stand inside numberless doors of fate. 

Waiting at the Neuschwanstein Castle gate, 
Krishna welcomes Morticia with stiff bow 
then leads her up winding steps to the tower 
where Nostradamus peers in crystal ball 
while teaching Rapunzel to analyze 
events that will happen in games of power. 

Before Morticia opens bag with skulls, 
Jupiter teleports from Babylon 
through mirror portal that reflects her mask, 
and tries to abduct Rapunzel as bride, 
but Morticia hurls three needles of blame 
that pierce his heart with paralysis. 

Binding body of Jupiter with wires 
that connect all souls to the world wide web, 
Rapunzel transforms him into the owl 
that always hoots outside window at dawn 
where Percival writes verses on lamb skin 
about his longing for girl in the tower. 

While strolling in lush park on river shore 
with yellow umbrella shading her face, 
Rapunzel spies in the afternoon crowd 
wild-haired Percival wearing slim black suit, 
so she pretends to trip in his open arms, 
and they gaze at each other in surprise. 

Blushing as they stroll on the castle lawn 
around the fountain where Neptune reclines, 
Rapunzel and Percival obfuscate 
passionate desire they feel to make love 
with polite inquiries in family wealth, 
till they find three skulls singing by the pond. 

Ghosts of Narcissus and Echo appear, 
conjured by Morticia from graves of fear, 
so Rapunzel and Percival embrace 
and make love with wild spinning of the Earth, 
then raise three children with moral respect 
safe within their numberless doors of fate. 

Laika Floats In Outer Space

Laika Floats In Outer Space
© Surazeus
2025 11 23

I doubt Laika flew far enough away 
from Earth to see it as small ball for play, 
nor did she live just long enough to see 
beautiful vastness of our azure sea, 
for she died when the capsule glowed too hot, 
so she cannot run in Heaven with God. 

Ivan stares out cracked window at the place 
where Laika used to show her cheerful face, 
then peers at silver mirror of the sky 
to calculate where Sputnik may soon fly, 
but all he sees are twinkling stars of ice 
that prove there is no perfect paradise. 

While typing short poems in Acmeist style, 
that depict man of nature without guile 
because he plows black Earth for noble cause 
in harmony with universal laws, 
Ivan sees black car brake outside his door 
so he huddles terrified on the floor. 

Trembling in fear as the secret police 
arrest his neighbor who had called for peace, 
Ivan hides small in shadow of despair 
while they drag someone thumping down the stair, 
then breathes again when tires squeal in the night 
so he drinks cold vodka by candlelight. 

Vowing to escape prison of the state, 
Ivan leaves beef bone on cracked dinner plate, 
then flees in snow-trapped woods of faceless ghouls 
past abandoned churches and shuttered schools 
with frantic intensity of the deer 
that scampers from the hunter in blind fear. 

Slipping through thick tangled bushes of hope 
on freezing Christmas night down rugged slope, 
Ivan wriggles under tall barbed-wire fence 
to escape Heaven without penitence, 
then races toward lush land of liberty 
to live with free will in dire poverty. 

Just as he nears locked gate of paradise 
and leaps to soar on wings of joyful vice, 
Ivan feels bullet of authority 
strike his spine with jolt of absurdity, 
so he falls tangled on barbed-wire of death 
where he dangles high as he gasps for breath. 

Hanging upside down on tangled barbed-wire, 
Ivan listens to the heavenly choir 
sing grandiose Ode to Joy Beethoven wrote, 
then sees with surprise where angels may float 
Sputnik blinking among stars of his dream, 
so he and Laika stroll by sparkling stream. 

Absence Of Souls We Love

Absence Of Souls We Love
© Surazeus
2025 11 23

My international thoughts trigger trees 
to scream about morality of hope 
which humans dig from caverns of desire 
then forge computers programmed with dream code 
that help our species evolve from star slime 
so we can dance with joy in grim twilight. 

Based on electric innocence of eggs 
we leap from cliff of arrogant dismay 
to float high above bottomless abyss 
where spirits of the dead lurk in our hearts 
with thirst of vampires for eternal life 
though we hide our fears in cute fairy tales. 

Each moment of awareness our brains beam 
we stand on sharp edge of eternity, 
unbalanced by lithe vertigo of faith, 
yet we assert emboldened steps of trust 
to manage how time still unwinds our hearts 
because ghosts are absence of souls we love. 

So I dip cautious foot of curious fear 
in gushing stream of time that swirls with light 
to feel how currents of communal change 
affect society through choice I make 
to take the signless road less traveled by 
when I set out colonize the world. 

While sitting at wood desk in upper room 
of my apartment on Dream Avenue, 
I listen to sharp sounds of busyness 
in car engines and childish shouts of play 
which I translate to story of the soul 
while typing letters on blank page of time. 

High literary attributes of fate 
describe conceptual actions people take 
through each encounter of the seventh kind 
in face to face transactions in dream states 
which fuels commercial life of world empires 
when agents organize corporate exchange. 

I watch ten million sons of Icarus 
fly swift around in Heaven above Earth 
to broker contracts between businesses 
who buy and sell our manufactured goods 
in games that define castle comedies 
directed by King Lear who lost his crown. 

Yet in the end all I can think about 
is how much I adore my loyal spouse 
who walks our way of life with me each day 
on countless roads already blazed and named 
by hungry humans for ten thousand years 
which all lead back to the garden of ghosts. 

Vision Of Star Truth

Vision Of Star Truth
© Surazeus
2025 11 22

She cries out frantically in gentle song 
through charming melodies of bitter angst 
that scares everyone with terror of death 
which they hide with calm mask of holy faith 
as they kneel around her in glowing grass 
and pray for salvation to empty skies. 

Frail girl in long black dress of subtle lace 
stands rigid under scarlet-glitter moon 
to bear huge heavy book of ancient tales, 
and chants expansive vision of star truth 
to prophesy with eloquent discourse 
how messiah sleuth rules the world with love. 

Eyes gleaming with faith in goodness of man, 
young Ellen describes with sea-solemn voice 
how noble man who treasures human souls 
descends stairway from Heaven on broad wings 
that shelter fragile human souls with care 
to guide each wanderer to paradise. 

Brave Michael wielding brilliant sword of faith, 
that he forged from meteor which fell to Earth, 
leaps forth from ziggurat where Ishtar reigns 
and hunts down wealthy men, who hide in towers 
as they enslave people trapped by huge debts, 
to free slaves so they farm on river shores. 

After Michael defeats and arrests men 
who enslave free humans for their own gain, 
he leads the newly-freed wanderers safe 
to build new colonies on river shores 
where their descendants thrive and multiply 
ten thousand years into empires of farms. 

Strong men who organize armies of orphans 
conquer vast farmlands from towers of greed 
then crown themselves as divine gods on Earth 
who exploit people with ownership laws 
and kill rebels against imperial power 
to secure tyranny of endless rule. 

Jesus fights against tyrannical thieves 
to free people of Earth from empire states 
so every individual may learn skill 
that contributes wealth to the public good 
where those who work with crafting hands of faith 
may prosper through compassion of their hearts. 

Exhausted after preaching sacred truth 
while possessed by Spirit of Liberty, 
American Pythia with star-bright eyes 
lies mute on Earth till wings sprout from her heart, 
then she ascends on wings of writhing flame 
to vanish in the empty godless sky. 

Every Soul Who Lived

Every Soul Who Lived
© Surazeus
2025 11 22

They drift into my hands as flakes of snow, 
all the faceless ghosts that wander the world 
four hundred million years of flashing faith 
who beam from every being who ever lived 
since we began to evolve from the sea, 
and each soul whispers their tale in my heart. 

I write the secret name of each mute ghost 
with runes of prophecy in shifting sands 
so Fate remembers every soul who lived 
though they have vanished into swirling dust 
for every atom that composes Earth 
once shimmered in the brains of living beings. 

Each atom woven in net of my brain 
was drop of water falling from the sky 
refracting clear immortal light of hope 
which energizes battery of my brain 
so I sing now with voice of all the dead 
who ask me to embody them with pride. 

When I see Icarus among the clouds 
reaching hopelessly toward the eyeless sun 
with longing ache to reach Realm of Ideas 
where Loving Craftsman creates conscious souls, 
I cheer his flight beyond our changing world 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

When I see Lucifer in crystal halls 
wrestle Jupiter over crown of power 
to free humans from tyranny of greed 
so we can live through talent of our skill, 
I cheer his crusade to charge liberty 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

When I see Earendel, brightest of Angels, 
bring light of wisdom to nations of men 
based on justice and liberty for all 
then guide mankind with lamp of prophecy, 
I cheer his message of democracy 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

When I see Orpheus emerge from Hell 
while strumming lyre of Mercury with faith 
to lead ghosts of the dead to paradise 
where they haunt me while I wrote poetry, 
I cheer his quest to rescue souls from death 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

When I see Jesus descend from Glow Cloud 
on flashing starship of ethereal drives 
to nurture spirit of each conscious soul 
so they grow to reflect image of God, 
I cheer his reign supporting us with love 
though he falls back to Earth as flakes of snow. 

My Motherland Of Scythia

My Motherland Of Scythia
© Surazeus
2025 11 22

If happiness sucks life out of our bones 
with monumental typhoon of contempt 
after we buy it packaged at the store, 
perhaps we could return to river vale 
where we tend chickens and cows on the farm 
to avoid causing lush Nature more harm. 

Ten million years from now on spinning Earth 
new species of conscious organic souls 
that evolve from fertile womb of the sea 
may carve our bones into musical flutes 
and play such sweet heart-aching melodies 
that sorrow could translate our memories. 

Yet I spend my non-working leisure hours 
watching stories about romantic strife 
between two people whose aggressive clash 
sparks passionate love of trust-forged respect 
so they generate children from desire 
who in turn join our world romantic choir. 

Though I found my soul mate in this strange life 
on the other side of our spinning world 
so we raise two children combining our genes, 
they are whole separate souls outside my mind 
who will journey new roads on their own quests 
after they bury my books in wood chests. 

If sorrow forges courage in our bones 
with Herculean honesty of faith 
after we sell it on the drama stage, 
perhaps we could oppose harsh tyranny 
to free our bodies and souls from fake debt 
to prove we are not some weak marionette. 

Ten million years ago on spinning Earth 
we swung with joyful energy of hope 
through endless canopy of fruitful trees 
in Garden of Eden around the globe 
before we formed aggressive nation states 
ruled from safe Heavens locked with pearly gates. 

Now I spend my dream-crafting labor hours 
composing stories about faceless souls 
who program mental malfunction with grace 
to transcend fear from nothingness of death 
and follow Orpheus strumming his lyre 
who leads us all home to our humble shire. 

Though I wandered years far across the land, 
performing songs from sea to shining sea 
in quest to become my Essential Me, 
I lounge at home in Appalachian hills 
because my motherland of Scythia 
beams from my heart to form Zarathia. 

Room Four Zero Four

Room Four Zero Four
© Surazeus
2025 11 22

Sweet ghost in room four zero four knows why 
humans are wingless angels in flesh form 
who search for illusion of Heaven on Earth 
yet find spirit of God inside our brains 
aching to comprehend nature of light 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang. 

Mad king in room four zero four declares 
royal authority of the whole world, 
but know no one ever knows his secret name 
so he pretends to play the happy game 
employed to write news stories that portray 
moral consequence of each human choice. 

Sad queen in room four zero four recalls 
weird hour she first sees kind Lucifer fall 
from high position as bank president 
to wander lost now in the city maze 
as homeless drunk who mumbles to himself, 
so she calls her old mother in Taiwan. 

Weird clown in room four zero four decides 
to hitchhike nowhere sea to shining sea 
and play guitar while singing grunge folk songs 
after Phoebus taught him how to compose 
stories in verse that present common men 
as social heroes who fight tyranny. 

Blues singer in room four zero four groans 
at pain of cancer eating at his heart, 
then steps on stage in dark Chicago bar 
and howls fierce anguish of the human heart 
that suffers agony of broken dreams 
with longing for false paradise of hope. 

Shy typist in room four zero four paints 
portraits of elves in grand fantasy tales 
with almond eyes and long thick sparkling hair 
who represent projection of her soul, 
then sits in frilled dress that hides her round hips 
and types company correspondence well. 

Tall model in room four zero four sews 
elaborate scenes of county towns and farms 
with buildings and characters from folk tales, 
then wears high fashion dresses and slim slacks 
through eclectic minimal luxury 
while striding gracefully on fame-lit stage. 

Mute seer in room four zero four encodes 
political events in clever fables 
which satirize cash-greedy billionaires 
who enslave people with corporate debt 
till messiah sleuth breaks monopoly 
and founds new United Nations of Earth. 

Upgraded World View

Upgraded World View
© Surazeus
2025 11 21

If I can fly till the end of the world 
then I will draw pictures of all my friends 
in book of angels floating on the lake 
with wonderous attitude of batteries 
charged with fierce competence of social games 
despite alluring consequence of fame. 

Cosmetic mask of indecisive faults, 
still in compliance with ancestral laws, 
conceals true continental heart of hope 
through ardent discipline of extreme faith 
exceeding focus of fantastic speech 
unbiased toward bland strangers on the street. 

Upgraded world view of transmitted truths,
based on virtual vanity of respect 
for how trees sing with protocols of power,
presents precise publicity of faith 
no honest pioneer discards with rage 
for which I am most qualified to sell. 

Pursuant to their unrecognized clause, 
consistent with notations children break, 
brave oracle directs world orchestra 
in partnership with monitors for love 
despite objective ploy through mysteries 
because we are observers of our fate. 

Forbidden equity of gradual growth, 
esteemed by generous galleries of gain, 
provides calm guardian with fake guarantees 
since land titles purchased on the foggy bridge 
defy conceptual gravity of greed, 
ensuring every enterprise may fail. 

Compliance with currency devils deal 
in gamble to require immortal urge 
attracts more deviant puppeteers of power 
than is convenient for my global reign 
so I should cite adhesive aerospace 
appendix for program to conquer death. 

Affected robot of dire infancy 
decides to play brave advocate of fear 
annoyed by slow advancement gods conceal 
as honest architect of our world state 
when seeking tired approval from sad ghosts 
who challenge copyright of curious clowns. 

Doctoral dissertation of dividends, 
exerting exclusive code of desire, 
develops sad compliance jesters bear 
with earned denial of encrypted tales 
depicting heroes who fly without wings 
to abrogate casino charity. 

Stageless Cape Of Fame

Stageless Cape Of Fame
© Surazeus
2025 11 21

Sometimes I like to stop and speculate 
on why my face appears on mirror moon 
as flame-contorting ghost of innocence 
that beams demonic energy of faith 
through psychic prism of my dreaming brain 
so I reinvent who I am today. 

While I stroll casually down city street 
in crooked urban zone of food cafes 
I shroud my soul in stageless cape of fame 
to hide blank nothingness of my real self 
behind mask of the wizard that I wear 
because I pretend no one else exists. 

Delusion that my existence in flesh 
vibrates with divine consciousness of stars 
beams brilliant as lamp of Diogenes 
exposing plain fact that no honest man 
walks anywhere in urban maze of greed 
so I pretend I care not for their lies. 

Assigned to paint on brick wall of the square 
complex mural depicting characters 
who represent soul of America, 
I wake my mind with vision of bold strife 
social heroes perform on crowded streets 
when they fight for lawful right to live well. 

No matter race or creed each person plays 
based on genetic code of mental sight 
we all share grand stage of America 
to solve dramatic tensions of each tribe 
contending to erase our differences 
and live through principle of liberty. 

When gangs of thugs with black face masks and guns 
attempt to deport natives of this land 
to clear space for invaders to live free, 
we band together with plan to protect 
every person working to create wealth 
in honest labor for the common good. 

As I walk through vast maze of human myths 
to relive strange historical events, 
I find my true self, forged in flames of fear, 
emerge with courage of communal strength 
to help each other live free in this land 
that nourishes our souls with holy wind. 

So when sudden forces of social change 
spur me to rise from teeming crowd of loss, 
I stride from grave with stageless cape of fame 
and strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
inspiring anthem of national pride 
to follow Onatah in march for truth.